


Advance and Retreat

by coolbyrne



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Rizzoli & Isles |, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life, like fencing, involves strategic footwork, and knowing when to advance and when to retreat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advance and Retreat

TITLE: Advance and Retreat

AUTHOR: coolbyrne

RATING: T

A/N: Probably my favourite fic so far, and my wife/beta reader tells me “it’s win-win” about once a day. 

…..

She stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized the image staring back. Gone were the boots, black suit and T-shirt that normally made up her wardrobe. In their place were high socks jammed in white tennis shoes, pants that were too short on purpose, and a jacket that pulled over a plastic chest protector.

“Hey, Maura,” she called out, still aghast at her appearance. “The jury’s back with their verdict.”

A muffled voice replied from the change room. “What jury? What case are you talking about?”

“The Case of the Ridiculous-Looking Homicide Detective,” the brunette replied. “Guilty as charged: I look ridiculous.” She turned as the medical examiner came out in a similar outfit to the one the detective was wearing. “And you look amazing. As usual.”

Maura held out her hands. “It’s only a fencing outfit,” she claimed. “Besides, you look stunning in all white. Very elegant.”

Jane snorted. “Yeah, well. I feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

“I get that one!” the doctor exclaimed with delight. “And what a coincidence – I will be poking you in the belly.”

Maura’s laughter did nothing to improve Jane’s mood. “Keep your fingers to yourself.”

Shaking her head, Maura made her way to the door, grabbing her blade and mask along the way. “Come on.”

While she didn’t resist the invitation, Jane shuffled her feet the entire way to the fencing mat. “How do I get talked into these things?”

Maura spun around. “Pardon?”

“You heard me. You talk me into all these things and it’s not until I’m stuck doing them that I realize what you’ve done.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent.” She wagged her finger. “I do yoga once a week. I get up at the ass-crack of dawn almost every day to go for a run. I eat kale. I eat sweet potato fries. Sometimes at the same time! That’s all on you.”

“Me? What about all the things you talk me into?”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Please. Name me one thing I’ve talked you into.” She crossed her arms and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

“68 baseball games, four of which didn’t even involve the Red Sox. 46 Bruins games. 10 Celtic games. Two National Lacrosse matches; one to see if you were interested, the second to make sure you really weren’t. And the entire Patriots season.” Jane looked suitably embarrassed. Maura went on. “I have seen more of Jason Statham’s alleged ‘acting’ career than anyone outside his circle of family and friends. And I still get a Christmas card each year from the Geek Squad for my purchase of a 54-inch TV and the installation of a $3000 home stereo system complete with surround sound.” She paused for a breath.

“The National Geographic documentaries on the mating rituals of the blowfly look so much better now, don’t they?” When the ill-timed joke got the silence it deserved, she Jane cast her eyes downward. “I’m sorry, Maura.”

“All I’m saying is, I wish you’d just tell me you don’t want to do these things.”

“Really?” Jane asked incredulously. “I’m pretty sure I did that before when you told me what the plan was. And I’m pretty sure I said something in the car on the way here. And I know I said something before I changed into this.” She gestured at her protective gear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize ‘Mauuura!’,” she sagged her shoulders and let her head fall back,  ”constituted an objection I was meant to take seriously.”

The imitation, along with the combined whine of petulance and huskiness was so accurate that it stunned Jane into silence.

“Again,” Maura continued, “if you’d prefer to watch the third game of a 162-game season rather than spend time doing something with me, I’d rather you tell me now. While we’ve most likely missed the first two innings, I’m sure we could get back in plenty of time for the remainder of the game, and I just re-stocked your beer yesterday.”

Had she not been shamed by the entire speech, the comment about the beer would have done it. Jane put the mask on top of her head. “I’m sorry, Maura,” she apologized softly. “I really do want to learn how to poke you with a pointy stick.”

Maura smirked, apology accepted. “You do so well figuratively, the literal sport should come naturally to you.”

The detective pulled the mask down over her face. “It’s not a sport.”

Using her foil, Maura pointed to a spot on the vertical line of tape that marked the mat from end to end. “Stand about there,” she directed. “Whenever you’re ready, come at me. You get a point for hitting anywhere on my torso.”

“Anywhere?” When the smaller woman nodded, Jane grinned under her mask. “This is gonna be easy.”

“Jane, you need to-”

“No,” she stopped her. “I’ve seen how they do this in the movies. I’m like Errol Flynn; I got this.”

“Okay,” Maura demurred and she lowered her mask. “Whenever you’re ready. Errol.” She stood casually and waited for the inevitable.

“Ho! Ha ha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Ha! Thrust!” Jane threatened with a playful banter.

“I believe that’s Bugs Bunny, not Errol Flynn,” Maura corrected her.

“Daffy Duck, Maura.”

Confidently, the brunette bounced forward and cut the air with wide swooping arcs of her foil. Rather than counter the attack, Maura patiently leaned back or to the side, deftly avoiding the blunted end of the foil. A lunge was side-stepped, and the one instance that Jane got close to hitting the target, Maura parried away the blade with her own. Jane’s attacks became more and more aggressive as she became more and more frustrated, but her agitation only made her actions easier to deflect.

“Stop moving!” Jane demanded when she missed again.

Maura held up a hand and lifted her mask, signalling a stop in play. “I don’t think that’s the object of the sport, Jane.”

Dark hair was plastered to her face and her left shoulder ached from the continued weight of the foil. She was happy to put her arm down. “It’s because you’re smaller,” Jane surmised. “You make a smaller target.”

Choosing her words carefully, Maura asked, “May I make a suggestion that might help you hit a smaller target?”

The detective wiped her forehead with the back of her arm and considered the offer. “You may.”

She placed her foil and mask on the floor, and gently took Jane’s items as well. Placing them to the side, she stood in front of her. “Most people think success in fencing comes from the blade, but in fact, it’s the footwork that wins the day.” Moving behind the taller woman, she instructed, “First, your feet should be almost shoulder-width apart. Your feet are too close which causes you to shuffle.” She lightly kicked the inside of Jane’s ankles, pushing her legs apart.

“Oh, Dr. Isles,” Jane smirked, “you’ve got a great pat and search technique going on there.”

“I’ve learned from the best,” she playfully volleyed back. “Okay, does that feel comfortable?” When the response was a nod and a shrug, Maura continued, “Now, you always want your feet to be this far apart, whether it’s at the end of an advance -a _‘passo avanti’_ \- or a retreat, otherwise known as a _‘passo indietro’_.”

“Italian, huh? I thought all of this fancy stuff was French.”

The blonde was pleased her choice of Italian was not unnoticed. “While it was improved upon by the French, it was the Italians who took the Spanish beginnings and created the modern mechanics of fencing in the 18th century.” As she spoke, she placed her hands on Jane’s hips. “Keep everything above your waist still; all your movement generates from here,” she explained, pressing in with her palms. “Lift up your back heel a little bit for me.” The brunette did as she was instructed. “Now, when you move forward, your weight is pushed by the ball of your foot. When you defend, you transfer your weight by flattening your back heel to the floor.”

She moved her left hand up to the detective’s abdomen and laid it flat across her torso. The action pulled the two women flush against each other, Jane’s back to Maura’s front, and the end result didn’t go unnoticed by either. Maura slowly began to sway, shifting their weight front to back, front to back. “Yes, just like that,” she whispered into Jane’s ear. “How does that feel?”

Jane swallowed and tentatively licked her lips. “Yeah.”

Maura’s laugh was soft and low. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with information, but I will tell you to move your front foot first in an advance, then your back foot. When you retreat, it’s the opposite. One of your mistakes is the order of your footwork. Don’t shuffle; glide. Move with me.”

Following the command was easier said than done, because try as she might, Jane couldn’t focus on anything other than the heat of Maura’s hands, burning imprints on her stomach and right hip. Their bodies were melded together from back to front, and even through the Kevlar of the protective gear, she could feel every movement of the woman behind her. When the blonde started her footwork, the feel of thighs pressing behind her own almost did her in.

“You’re not moving,” Maura noted.

“What? Sorry,” Jane apologized. “I, uh, I’m worried I’m going to step on your feet.”

“No, you’re fine,” she assured the detective. “Like this…”

And thus began a charged dance of sorts between them. Left legs moving forward, followed by the right. Then in reverse. And again. Unsure of where to put her hands, she placed them over Maura’s as they continued, advancing and retreating, advancing and retreating. It was a motion that others might say was indicative of their relationship.

After a few minutes, Maura asked, “Ready for the next step?”

Jane almost laughed out loud. “Depends what day you ask me,” she said under her breath. Louder, she asked, “What’s the next step?”

Maura pulled away, both immediately missing the warmth. With a flick of her toe, she kicked Jane’s foil up and caught it in her hand. The brunette saw the move, and raised an approving eyebrow. Maura smiled and touched her shoulder.

“Turn around,” she directed and settled back into her previous position. “Take the foil in your left hand.” Jane obeyed. “Now, think of the blade as an extension of your arm.” She circled Jane’s wrist with her fingers. “We only want movement from here. The more economical your movements, the more controlled your attacks will be.” She reached for Jane’s right hand. “I know Errol holds his hand above his head, but really, you want it down here.” She lowered their arms until they were almost parallel to the floor. “Keep it the same height whether you’re advancing or retreating, or you’ll give your opponent an advantage if they pick out your ‘tell’. Remember, while it can be physically taxing, the best fencer is also the best tactician.”

She stepped back and took an appreciative look at the woman standing before her. She wasn’t giving false flattery when she told Jane how elegant she looked. And now, in full _‘guardia’_ pose, balanced and ready, with her pony-tail a dark contrast against the white, Maura amended her opinion.

“You’re stunning,” she commented, not realizing she’d said the compliment aloud.

Jane turned from her pose and deflected her self-consciousness with a quip. “I am so ready to kick your butt now.”

Laughing, Maura handed her the mask before reclaiming her own equipment. “You can try.”

“Oh, I see how it’s gonna be. Well, let’s say whoever gets five hits, the loser buys lunch.”

The doctor propped her mask on top of her head and asked, “Should I spot you four hits?”

“Oooooh!” Jane growled. “It’s on!”

Both women lowered their masks, and took starting poses. As she was in the beginning, Maura held back and parried only when necessary, content to simply watch Jane tackle this new wrinkle as only Jane could, with an intensity coiled under sharp watchful eyes. Her mind was clearly active as she sent messages to her body: slide here, jab there. Though she was undoubtedly a beginner, there was potential in her ability, and it warmed Maura to know she may have sparked that in her.

With a flick of the wrist, the tip of Maura’s foil hit Jane squarely on the chest.

“Dammit!” came the muffled curse.

“It’s not too late to take me up on my offer.”

“Jimmy Choo!” Jane shouted and jerked her chin towards a spot behind Maura.

“What?” the blonde exclaimed and turned her head, realizing her mistake immediately.

“Ha!” Jane crowed as she held the point against Maura’s chest. “The best fencer is also the best tactician.”

“Ha-ha,” Maura replied. “I cannot be held responsible for what happens next, Detective.”

What happened next was three quick points, finished with a fourth that was executed with a sharp attacking lunge that caught Jane completely off-guard.

“Hey!” she protested, lifting up her mask and frowning. “You never taught me that!”

Maura lifted her own mask and took a deep breath. Laughing, she shrugged, “I have to give you a reason to want to do this again, don’t I?”

Jane tucked her head gear under her arm and brushed away an errant strand of hair. “C’mon, Maura,” she said, “you don’t have to give me a reason to do this again.” She offered a soft smile. “I can’t promise I won’t whine about it, though.”

“I suppose that’s progress,” Maura surrendered with a smile. “Now, I have a great idea for lunch!”

“So do I!” Jane replied with enthusiasm. “We’re gonna to swing by Frank’s Franks and get two of their loaded sausage hotdogs. Then we’re going back to your place, because I DVR’d the game on your amazing 54-inch flat screen TV with surround sound that I’m thankful for every day.”

“What??”

The brunette sidled up to the doctor and admitted, “I don’t thank you enough for the things you do for me. So, thank you.” She dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Wait. Are you trying to distract me from the fact you just said we’re getting hotdogs for lunch? But you said winner gets to choose.”

Shaking her head, Jane said, “No. I said ‘loser buys lunch’. I’m the loser. I buy lunch.”

“But…”

“I know. It’s win-win,” Jane winked and made her way to the change room. “Oh, and Maura?” The blonde turned, still amazed at what had just transpired. “I’ll admit I can see how some people might consider fencing a sport. But you’ll never make me budge about the ballet.”

…..


End file.
